The Bodyguard and Ms. Jones (12 page)

There was heat. From the concrete road, from the night air and from their bodies. The temperature between them rose until she felt the flames licking at her most feminine place.

He was rock-hard, the muscles in his back thick ropes that shifted and tightened under her fingers. The arms around her shoulders and waist tightened as if he feared she would want to escape. She thought of telling him that it had never crossed her mind, but she didn't want to interrupt his kiss.

He drew her lower lip into his mouth and suckled gently. He swept his tongue across her dampened skin, sending hot liquid need down her chest and into her breasts. She felt herself swelling, aching, reaching for him. Her hips pressed against his and she cradled the part of him that echoed her desire.

In the back of her mind, some small still-rational part of her compared him to Nelson. They were the same height so the pose should be familiar. But it wasn't. Mike bent toward her as if kissing her was the most important task of his day. Nelson had always made her stretch up to meet him. Their bodies were different. Nelson had been wider, softer. Mike was all hard planes and steely muscles. She hadn't kissed a man other than her ex-husband in nearly twelve years. She'd forgotten how wonderful kissing could be.

At last he entered her mouth. Instantly, all thought fled as she could only feel the gentle, smooth exploration. He tasted of the brandy they'd had, and deliciously of himself. She wanted to crawl closer, to be inside of him, feeling more. She wanted to touch him everywhere and be touched in return.

She stroked his back, his shoulders, then the short silky strands of his hair. His palms echoed her journey in reverse as he first buried his fingers in her hair, caressed her shoulders and back, then dipped lower to cup her derriere.

She arched her hips against him, bringing her belly into contact with his arousal. His body tensed and he groaned low in his throat.

“Cindy,” he said softly, breaking the kiss and speaking into her ear.

She slid her hips back and forth, taunting them both. His breathing was harsh. He punished her with sharp nips on her earlobe, then soothed the spot with moist kisses. The shivers started there and rippled down to her knees.

As first kisses went, it was a pretty exciting one. She giggled.

“Is that a statement about my technique?” he asked.

“No, it's just...” She caught her breath as his hand slid up her hip to her waist. She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Mike?”

His face was taut with need, his mouth damp from their kisses. “What?” he asked.

“That was my first kiss since the divorce,” she said quickly, suddenly too shy to look at him. “If I'd known it was going to be this good, I would have done it sooner.”

He was silent so long she was forced to glance up at him. His eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn't read. “Mike, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by—”

He brought his mouth down on hers, effectively silencing her. She went to him willingly. His hand stayed on her waist, but she willed it to move higher. The ache in her breasts had reached a fever pitch she knew only his touch would soothe.

When he didn't react to her mental message, she tried something more direct. She swept her tongue into his mouth, touching him, tasting him. She rocked her hips against his, reaching her hands down to his rear and holding him in place. At last, his hand began to slide higher.

The sharp metal-against-metal squeak of a garage door being closed caught her attention. She broke the kiss and turned her head to listen. At that moment, she realized they were standing in the middle of the street where virtually anyone could see them.

“Oh, my,” she murmured. “What will the neighbors think?”

Mike shifted away from her and straightened. He had to clear his throat before speaking. “That I'm the luckiest guy in town,” he said. He cleared his throat again. “I'm going to stay out here for a little bit. Why don't you go on in?”

She wanted to protest. A part of her was willing to continue what they'd been doing—even let it build to its natural conclusion. But the sensible part of her brain screamed that was out of the question. She barely knew the man. They couldn't make love. Correction. There wasn't any love here. They couldn't have sex. She didn't do that with men she didn't know, and Mike, well, she didn't know Mike's thoughts on the subject, but she had a feeling she was the last woman he would choose.

She picked up the plastic bag she'd dropped and glanced at him. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah. Just give me a minute to recover.”

She liked that his voice was shaking a little. She walked the rest of the way across the road, stepped up onto the curb and headed for her front door. Her body was still humming from their encounter. But as she moved into the cool foyer and shut the door behind her, she realized how empty the house was, and how very alone she felt. Even when Mike came inside, he wasn't coming home to her.

Chapter Seven

H
e was in enemy territory without a survival guide, and he had no one else but himself to blame.

The grocery store was huge. Mike was used to small corner markets that carried one brand of only a few kinds of food, while sporting an impressive selection of beer and hard liquor. He limped in through the automatic door and entered a foyer. On one side was a machine that dispensed water, a full-size ice freezer, a popcorn machine that made the area smell like a movie theater and two large containers—one for paper bags, the other for plastic—with signs above them reminding shoppers to recycle.

There was another set of sliding doors, then he entered the store itself. And stopped in his tracks.

He had nothing to compare it to, but he knew he'd stepped into a strange and frightening land. There was merchandise everywhere. Not just food. From where he was standing he could see plants, a video-rental department, a pharmacy, a hot deli, a florist and a salad bar that would put most restaurants to shame.

He swore under his breath.

When he'd moved out of Cindy's that morning, she'd offered to go grocery shopping for him, so he wouldn't have to worry about stocking up on his first day alone. Foolishly, he'd turned her down. He hadn't wanted to be any more trouble. Besides, they'd spent the last forty-eight hours performing an elaborate dance of avoidance and lies. Not only had they tried not to be alone together—a real trick for most of Sunday while her children were gone—they'd both pretended to forget the kiss. Or maybe he'd been the only one pretending. Maybe she'd been able to dismiss it from her mind.

The memory of her soft mouth against his had kept him up all Saturday night. Two cold showers hadn't helped his painful condition, nor had trying to think about something else.

He'd kissed women before. He rarely went more than a few months without a bed partner, although the last year or so had been pretty lean. But it was more than need that made him relive every moment of her in his arms. It was something much more dangerous and he didn't want to know what it was.

Before his line of thought produced its usual and obvious reaction, he limped over to the grocery carts and pulled one loose. It slid out easily. No sticky wheels or wobbly carts out here, he thought as he headed for the produce section.

He needed everything. Grace had planned to be gone for at least three months, so both the refrigerator and pantry were empty. It hadn't taken him long to settle into his sister's place, probably because everything he owned fit into two duffel bags.

His way of life was strange to Cindy. He'd seen it in the look on her face when she'd helped him pack. She kept asking if he didn't have something else to take with him.

As he stared at the rows of perfect peaches and nectarines, he snagged a plastic bag from the roll at the end of the counter and remembered last night. It had been the best time he'd had in months. The kids had arrived home about four. He and Cindy had gone to the video store and rented a couple of movies. They'd ordered pizza, then made root-beer floats.

As he reached for a couple of nectarines, he tried to recall if he'd ever had a root-beer float before in his life. He'd sure never made one at home. The kids had laughed and Cindy had been smiling. Her green eyes had lit up with emotion as she stared at her children. She'd hugged them close, as if having them home was a precious gift, and they'd held on just as tightly. In that moment, he hadn't felt left out as much as envious. He wanted that for himself, too. A place to belong. Someone to belong—

His cart jerked in his hands. He turned his head and saw a petite dark-haired woman smiling at him.

“Oops,” she said, and pulled her cart back. “Didn't mean to bump you.” She glanced at the nectarines in his bag. “They're on sale this week.”

“I hadn't noticed.” He looked up at the sign. It was on a chalkboard and illustrated by a cartoonlike figure.

“The grapes are pretty cheap, too. And tasty.” She reached into her cart and fumbled with a bag. When she straightened, she had a grape resting in the palm of her hand. “Try one.”

“Ah, thanks.” He took the grape, feeling vaguely like Snow White when she'd taken the apple in a movie he'd watched with Allison.

The tiny woman leaned toward him. “You're Mike Blackburne, right?” He must have looked confused because she laughed and placed her hand on his forearm. “I'm in a step aerobics class with your sister Grace. She told us all about you.” Her eyebrows arched.

He started backing up. “Ah, it was nice to meet you...”

“Belinda,” she said. “I was wondering if you might like to come over to dinner sometime.”

He looked at her left hand and saw a diamond band sparkling there. “I'm not sure your husband would be pleased.”

“Oh, he's gone a lot.” Her smile broadened. “It could be our little secret.”

“I'm not very good at keeping secrets,” he said. “But thanks for asking.”

With that, he turned his cart down the main aisle. He wanted to leave the store, but he needed food and it was unlikely the woman was going to pursue him in this public store.

“I'm in the book. Phone me if you change your mind,” she called, then gave her last name.

He nodded and kept on going, slowing long enough to grab a bag of premade salad, and some broccoli. He cruised through the bakery department, searching for his favorite brand of bread. They must not make it in Texas, he decided after a few minutes of fruitless searching.

By the meat counter, two women shopping together tried to engage him in conversation, but he only smiled and kept on moving. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his back. It wasn't caused by exertion, he was barely moving at a fast walk. So it was something else. If he was honest with himself, he would admit he didn't like these people knowing who he was. It made him nervous.

He turned down the cereal aisle and picked out a box. At the far end were the paperback books and magazines. He paused there to find something to read. There was an entire section of the romance novels Cindy liked. He thought about picking one up for her, but didn't know which she might already have read.

He liked watching her read. She got lost in the story. Often he'd come into the family room and found her sprawled out on the sofa, one foot dangling over the back of the couch. How many times had he wanted to go to her? He'd known her skin would be soft before he touched it. He'd known she would taste of heaven long before they kissed.

Maybe that's what was bothering him. Usually, realities fell far short of the imaginings, but Cindy was even better than he'd hoped and he wasn't sure why. Of course he'd thought of kissing her, but the real thing had been different. Maybe because in the past kissing had been something he did on the road to going to bed with a woman. With Cindy, he'd enjoyed the act of kissing simply for itself. The process—holding her, feeling her lean against him, tasting her—had been enough. Although he didn't want to think about what could have happened if they'd been inside the house instead of standing in the middle of the street.

He picked up a book and flipped through it. But instead of words, he saw Cindy's face as it had been in the glow of the streetlight. He saw her swollen mouth and the passion in her eyes. Just thinking about it turned him on. But he knew it wasn't right. She was—

Another cart slammed into him. He looked up as a blond woman with an infant in the cart and a young girl trailing behind smiled at him.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I wasn't watching where I was going.” She pointed at the book Mike was holding. “Does that look any good?”

“I don't know.” He thrust the paperback at her, then grabbed his cart and hurried down the aisle. His injured leg screamed in protest, but he didn't slow down until he was safely lost in the canned goods.

Once there, he paused to catch his breath. They knew him. He could read it in their faces. They talked about him and when they got home they would call their friends and mention running into him in the grocery store. He'd heard they were interested, and it scared the hell out of him. He would feel safer in a roomful of armed terrorists. At least there he would know the rules.

Moving cautiously, making eye contact with no one and walking as quickly as his injury would allow, he walked to the aisle with soda and grabbed two twelve-packs. Up ahead were chips. He started toward them when a cart turned in at the far end. That sixth sense that told him to duck in time to avoid gunfire screamed for him to turn. He turned. As he whipped around to the center aisle, his peripheral vision registered a familiar form. Beth. He groaned. That was all he needed.

He was standing by the frozen foods. Mike quickly scanned the contents of the freezer, opened one glass door and pulled out five of the same dinner. He couldn't afford to be picky now. Before anyone else could speak to him, he made his way to the checkout counters.